


how you met michael

by slashersins



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26973925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashersins/pseuds/slashersins
Summary: you cooked him dinner . well , you cooked yourself dinner . michael was hungry , the scent of a freshly cooked meal luring him to your home , he watched you finish said meal , and broke in .
Relationships: Michael Myers/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 94





	how you met michael

you cooked him dinner . well , you cooked yourself dinner . michael was hungry , the scent of a freshly cooked meal luring him to your home , he watched you finish said meal , and broke in . he was fully expecting to devour whatever was made so the gnawing burn in his stomach would ease after dealing with the screaming , a fight , having to chase you and hunt you down . a nice kill before dinner . 

instead , for some reason , you made him a plate , with larger portions than on your own , and slid it across the table . there was a stand off . michael standing , watching , staring at you with an intense empty gaze before his eyes finally settled on the offering . a slight head tilt , and then he was sitting . you were smart enough - or maybe dumb enough - to look away while michael ate , staring at your own food and not raising your head . it was obvious who this man was . and you were hoping dinner would save your life . lucky for you it did . and when you looked up after eating , michael was gone . just as quietly as he had emerged . 

but … there was an issue with feeding the shape . like a feral cat you left out a can of food for at your back door , he came back . never a sound made . never a word uttered between you . for weeks , michael showed up . the same time . always at night , and always usually covered in grime and gore . always for a free meal , a good meal . better than the tasteless gruel served in the sanitarium . so he kept you alive . not at all docile . not at all safe . always ready to snap your neck , to stab your chest , to draw your blood . you were useful in staving off michael’s need for nourishment . that was all . 

eventually , enough was enough and you were tired of having to clean up the mess michael made when he came in . you were tired of having to go and buy new knives as yours kept disappearing - and you didn’t want to think about where they ended up . 

it was a fight , trying to get michael clean . you tried to tell him that he couldn’t have his dinner until he showered as if he was some prepubescent boy being scolded by his mother . you ended up having to clean up more than just blood and dirt off your kitchen floor that night . and somehow michael still left with a plate of food in his hand , miraculously untouched by his rage at being denied a meal . 

then - then an idea struck . michael was much like a feral cat still . he wasn’t your pet , just a stray that came around for food . someone who only kept you alive for that very purpose . but maybe , just maybe you could persuade him like you would a stray . all you’d need is a treat . something special , something enticing . so , you made him a cake . 

to your utter surprise , it worked . the smell of baked goods had put michael on high alert . and he was hellbent on sniffing it out , finding it and devouring the sweet treat , but to his annoyance he had no idea where it was in the house . not that he was against tearing it apart in his search , but the gnawing hunger in his stomach had him hovering over you in the kitchen like a lethal tiger as you finished making dinner . and instead of leaving after he was finished eating , michael stayed . 

you were thankful that michael could take a hint , as well as concerned that he seemed to know where and what every room in your house was . the simple “i was thinking of eating some dessert after a bath or something. ya know , as a treat !” was enough for michael to take the hint . he stalked to the bathroom and stripped , stepping into the shower with no resistance , only giving you an empty sideways glance when you popped in to grab his blood soaked coveralls in hopes of finally cleaning them . 

he reemerged just as you finished loading the washer with the strongest detergent you had , and twice the amount needed . and you were thankful that the over sized shirt and sweat pants you’d bought for just this hopeful chance fit him . 

he was swift to sit back at the table , looking at you expectantly with his cold gaze . he wanted his cake dammit . and you knew better than to keep the boogyman waiting , so his treat was promptly set before him . and you left him alone to eat . 

after that … michael came around more often . stayed longer . stayed the night and used your shower with the expectation of having his clothes washed each time . it was a shift in the way things were . and well , you couldn’t say it was terrible . another reason to keep you around you guess . and you couldn’t help the satisfaction that came with knowing in some ways the stray might be becoming somewhat tame . somewhat . or maybe not at all . at least it was a sense of normalcy . and that sated you . 

soon it went from michael sitting on the couch , staring at the tv , always on high alert and aware of you at all times to michael sleeping there . still as the dead and stiff , feet hanging off the edge of the couch . it didn’t look comfortable in the least . but there wasn’t much of a solution . there was only one bed in the house , and it already had an occupant in it . plus you weren’t too sure about what boundaries you might be overstepping if you invited michael to share the sleep space . 

like many things , however , michael solved that problem himself . when you were unceremoniously shoved out of your own bed and onto the floor , only to get up and see michael laying in your bed . taking up all the space , and looking literally dead . somehow the feral cat you’d invited in was taking over . and now it was you sleeping on the couch . at least it was you sized . you made sure to steal the covers in retaliation . it took a few nights before you finally relented to michael’s less than polite way of telling you he was sleepy. or maybe you were just tired of being shoved to the floor , but you permanently relented to sleeping on the couch .

it’s been a few months . maybe four or five since your first encounter with michael . and things were going smoothly . or as smoothly as it can go with an impromptu serial killer roommate . at least in your eyes . 

michael … michael was feeling antsy . angry . confused . he was feeling emotions . and he didn’t do emotions , not the ones that made his hands twitch , and head hurt . not the ones that he felt each time he started walking towards your home after a kill . 

excitement he was familiar with . there was always that warm tug of adrenaline when he chased a victim , the satisfaction of a kill warming his blood and rendering him sated for a moment . but this … it was different . this excitement hurried his normally slow and careful steps . it had his finger tips buzzing , itching to open the back door you learned to leave unlocked for him . it had his heart beating ever so quicker in anticipation of hearing you welcome him home and telling him what you’d both be having for dinner . he hadn’t noticed this feeling before . this warmth . he wasn’t capable of feeling so … domesticated . was he ?

and that , that made the familiar anger surge through him . was he being domesticated ? was he being tamed ? what was this feeling ? furious at himself for having these weak emotions , these unfamiliar , unsafe emotions , he quietly raged while his mind raced with solutions to this problem . but that only lead to more . 

he could kill you . you wouldn’t be expecting it . you wouldn’t run . he could easily step inside , walk behind you and bury his knife in your back . watch as you bled out on the floor as he ate whatever food you’d made for them . that was something he could do . his solution . but his grip on his knife faltered as he took another step . a new feeling . a new emotion flooded his senses as he thought of your lifeless body . as he thought of your face contorted in pain and eyes empty as they stared at nothing . it was a weight on his chest , crushing and his heart seemed to twist violently . he couldn’t kill you . but he had to. 

and yet he stood rooted in the ground . still as a statue as he stared hard at the glint of the moonlight on his blade . you couldn’t be so important to him . all you did was provide food and shelter . anyone could do that . anyone could cook a meal that he could eat . he didn’t need you . all those thoughts swirling until he turned on his heel . he had to prove it to himself . show himself that he was just attached for basic needs . show himself that you truly meant nothing . just a place to sleep . just a free meal . nothing else . 

it lasted two weeks . no michael . dinners for two served to only one , the other half spending time in the fridge for when the man showed back up . sleepless nights spent on the couch . he wasn’t dead . the murders and missing people reports continued as usual . but he hadn’t come home . still , you waited . the food still made . desserts made desperately - even resorting to sticking pies on the windowsill to cool in hopes to find it missing only to find it still there . two weeks and no michael . and for some reason , you were a wreck . worried and lonely . missing the deadly man that you’d come to enjoy the company of . quiet as he may be , always masked , always eating your food and stealing your bed . but for that short while he’d been yours . maybe this was why you were always told not to feed strays . 

it was no better for michael . food tasted like ash . too burnt , too under cooked , too unseasoned , too over seasoned . it was disgusting even if it satisfied the ache in his stomach . and the annoyance of having to deal with screaming and kicking and fighting and police sirens that sped his eating - it was irritating . it made him more brutal . more bloody . and the way it dried and itched on his unwashed coveralls irritated his skin . the wrongness of the beds , too firm and too soft and too filthy . smelling too much like body odor or sex or just -

he was rage personified even more so . tired and hungry for a meal made by someone he didn’t want to think about . wanting to take his time in devouring his food , in gouging himself on sweets cooked only for him . to stand for as little or as long as he’d prefer under a hot shower , using the body wash and shampoo that wasn’t his but wasn’t one of his victims . missing the refreshing feeling of clean clothes and looking in wonder at how all the blood stains seemed to fade away . 

it was all he could think of while eating . after the high of a kill wore off . when he was trying to force himself to sleep on whatever bed or couch or piece of earth he could find that night . and it didn’t help that those thoughts were followed by you welcoming him home , offering him dinner , asking to watch a movie and eat cake or pie or cookies or whatever you’d baked that night . of the way your eyes lit up when the clothes you got him fit while his coveralls washed and the rattling of the washer and dryer boomed in the house so loud the tv had to be at max volume . 

it lasted two weeks . two weeks . and michael finds himself standing in the kitchen of your home . there’s no food cooking . and the lights are off . yet the glow of the tv is easy to see , and the volume , for once , is at a normal light mummer . and there you are . curled up on the couch , looking ready for bed , with two boxes of pizza on the table . one unopened , and one half eaten . a tub of ice cream with a spoon stuck in it in your lap . 

he takes in the scene . you may not have cooked but you ordered enough food for two . yet its just two . you have a dessert that you’ve barely touched , you’re all ready to fall asleep on your couch despite having your bed to yourself . you’ve been waiting for him . 

something inside of michael snaps , it had him moving from his spot standing over you , watching with cold calculating eyes . he’s by your side in a heartbeat , silent and sudden . he cares little as he lifts his mask enough to uncover his mouth , taking the unopened box of pizza to claim and devour his own slice . he doesn’t blink when you jump suddenly , startled by his arrival . he just eats . ignoring the bubbling , warm sensation that envelops him as your attention shifts to him . as he tastes food that was purchased just for him and swallows it down . he doesn’t give you a glance or pause . that is until you speak .

it’s wavering , watery like you might cry , or have been . but there’s so much relief in it , a happiness that even michael can recognize . and his eyes shift to your face , head tilted slightly as you smile brightly . even as hot tears stream down your cheeks . 

“ welcome home , michael . i got us some pizza and ice cream . i missed you . ”

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first michael myers ( or slasher in general ) fic . kinda came about because me and my friend started talking about how much michael loves to eat and has the biggest sweet tooth . any critics would be sweet .


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